


Chrysalism

by maybe_jamaica_rum



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: AU, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_jamaica_rum/pseuds/maybe_jamaica_rum
Summary: - (n)     "the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm"





	Chrysalism

The view from the window is pitch black, rimmed with occasional rivulets of frightening light. It has the appearance of something strangely beautiful, if not for the chronic rumbling and shudder-inducing cymbal crashes that act as accompaniment. This is apparently a generic impression of a thunderstorm. I don’t seem to be in keeping with that particular facet of human emotion. This, the sensation of being indoors, entirely safe from the torrential weather outside, is my heaven. Ostracised and yet intrinsically linked to the chaos. Heaven.

I’ve developed a kind of ritual for these times of solace. I turn off all of the lights, no matter what time of day the storm strikes. If it is still light, I simply channel my inner Romeo Montague, and fashion my own kind of artificial night within which to savour my love of thunder. I partake in a kind of solitary séance, and I allow the lightning to strike away my each and every regret, never again to be dwelt on. It amazes me that I never seem to run my minuscule pool of regrets dry. I tirelessly re-live the same ones, liberating and dragging them from the deepest reaches of my psyche. Although, I do however believe that I am entirely too open-minded in terms of what i actually count as ‘regret’. For one, I say that I regret that I am no longer in contact with my family, despite that being entirely down to their complete inability to accept me as I am and in turn accept my girlfriend, who, by the way, is going nowhere that i’m not for the foreseeable future. It’s ridiculous to me that this incredible girl, who is positioned across from me, also slumped against the kitchen wall, shivering on the floor, is what drove a wedge between myself and the rest of my family. Lauren is honestly my favourite person alive. There are not enough positive words in the english language to communicate how perfect she is. I’d choose her over anyone. Though alas, even she cannot fathom for the life of her why i love thunderstorms so much. But God love her, she still sits with me in the dark, and bears witness to the madness as it unfolds.

She is currently wearing roughly four layers of clothing, as I have grown accustomed to, and now insist upon, it being cold to complete the ambiance. In her hands are the necessary components for a rolled cigarette, her fingers working diligently to finish it. She feels my eyes gaze and looks up, giving me a crooked smile, and my eyes are drawn to a loose lock of hair that has fallen in front of her eyes. Thus once again my focus is pulled, this time to the two liquid emerald indents that take presidency over the other remarkable features of her porcelain face. The eyes that seem to change colour, going from green to blue and everything that has ever lay in between, yet forever remaining strikingly viridescent, with frequent flecks of yellowish gold that reflect the glare of each lightning strike.

Whilst i’ve been lost in my reverie, she has finished rolling her cigarette and is trying to spark it on the last match that she has to her name. There go my eyes again, of their own accord, following the movements of her hands, the chipped black nail polish that has been there for God knows how long brings another smile to my face. There’s a hiss as the spark catches, and she quickly lights her homemade cigarette and shakes out the match. She winks at me as she takes a first draw, blowing smoke rings that rise until they disappear upon making contact with the ceiling, in that same one space where they always go. We are starting to get a stain in that spot from her smoke, as if the landlord needed more reasons to dislike the emo lesbians in this apartment, who enjoy sitting in the dark during thunderstorms. I swear they think we’re witches. I scowl at her and gesture to the stain with my hand. She briefly flicks her gaze upward and then shrugs back at me. I roll my eyes as high as humanly possible and she just laughs. A deep, yet melodic sound that reverberates in her throat and hums around the room. I realise when she does this that I miss her, and it’s stupid. She is literally feet away from me in our tiny, shitty, stereotypical, cheap-ass apartment.

I stand up, attempting to stretch my legs and my bones crack with the sudden change of position. She looks at me quizzically, a question in her eyes. She knows that I never move until the thunder subsides. I walk the few paces that separate us and slide down the wall beside her, while simultaneously leaning into her. She lifts her arm out of habit and curls it around my shoulder. Despite her layers of clothing she still feels cold, but I couldn’t care a less, she’s mine no matter her temperature. She makes as if to share her cigarette but I shake my head, so she continues to smoke. I feel the need to distract her and start leaning in closer. I attach my mouth to her neck and start moving downward, leaving small kisses in my wake. I feel her sharp intake of breath as I reach her collarbone, and I smile. I’ve won. Cigarette forgotten. As if to illustrate as much, I hear her swear under her breath and chuck the burnt-out cigarette across the room. I pull back and look at her and she pouts at me, flushed and breathing heavily. I go to stand again but she pulls me back. I tilt my head and feign confusion, smiling at her while biting my lip. This time she leans in. It’s not long before tongues are involved. And she tastes like smoke but it’s whatever. I’m kissing her and there’s a thunderstorm outside and it’s one of those moments that is just cosmically so euphoric that a little smoke doesn’t bother me, and perhaps it never again will.

**Author's Note:**

> -First attempt-
> 
> .Lincoln.
> 
> if anyone wants to be pals, hit me up on Tumblr :)  
> o0luckyfridaythe13th0o.tumblr.com


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